Mad Man in the Blue Box
by youpromisedmebroadway
Summary: One night when Blaine considers the life his father has laid out for him, a man in a box takes him by the hand and turns his world upside down. Part of a potential Doctor Who/ Glee crossover with Doctor! Kurt and Companion! Blaine.


**Summary: **Blaine Anderson looks up to the sky and there's nothing there other than dreams he left behind when he was 14. Dreams he tried to cling on to through a high school choir, but now high school is over and he's ready to leave those wishes behind, and follow the path so neatly put together by his father. That is, until one chilly July night when a stranger takes his hand, takes him away in his blue police box. Doctor Who Klaine with Doctor! Kurt and Companion! Blaine

**A/N:** There's really no plot. This isn't really a story, just a collection of short adventures and stories in the same verse in my head. Other parts will be posted as sepearate stories and not as a continuation of this part.

* * *

><p><span>Part 1: Mad Man in A Blue Box<span>

* * *

><p>He was meant for great things. Better things than this. He was going to go far. Work hard and climb up to the top, work through every shitty job and unpaid internship until he was up with the elite. He was an Anderson after all and that's what Andersons do.<p>

Or so Blaine's father had told him.

His fingers gripped around the handle of the swing that he pushed himself on half heartedly, swinging back and forth in tiny motions. His feet barely left the ground, still scraping along. He dragged his head up to look anywhere but his scuffed shoes, the low sun glaring harshly in his eyes for a second before they adjusted. Grey clouds were rolling over in the sky and Blaine watched them lazily. The sinking sun left only small bursts of light stretching across the small playground, leaves in the nearby trees rustling as the soft breeze passed. Blaine shivered as the park around him slowly darkened.

He pushed himself a little harder on the swing, feet lifting up off the ground until it slowed back to a halt. He did the same again and then another time, never caring enough to keep going.

This was it. In a few months he'd be packing up for college. He'd be starting his life. Becoming a man, his father's words echoed in his head. He'd be leaving Lima.

But he'd be back, that much he was sure of because his brother had tried like their father before them, and he'd come back. Everyone always came back.

Graduation was meant to be exciting. It was meant to be terrifying and upsetting but not this draining. It wasn't supposed to make him want to run far away. He wasn't meant to want to throw up at every mention of University. He wasn't supposed to plaster on a smile while his parents praised his acceptance letters.

He _was_ supposed to be proud with them and then show it off to his friends, barely able to contain all his enthusiasm. He wasn't meant to want to rip it up and throw it away every time he caught a glance of it.

He fully stopped himself on the swing, feet flat on the ground. Only the sounds of the soft summer breeze and the rustling leaves were company to his flat breathing, as he slumped against the hand clasped around the swing handle. Eyes drifting up to the sky, he could just make out the faint outline of the moon in the cloudless patch. There could be a way if he looked at it long enough- hard enough, wishing with enough feeling- that maybe he could have the moon for his. And if he had the moon, if he could get to it, he'd never have to return to Lima again.

He closed his eyes and whispered into the quiet, "I wish I had a way of flying to the moon."

He opened them and looked around quickly. Exhaling and shifting stiffly on the tiny swing, he began to push himself forwards slowly again.

He would have drowned in his own thoughts if he could- he would have wallowed in them for the rest of the night- if it hadn't been for the screeching. His head shot up as he looked for the source of the noise. The low rumble that filled the empty park, leaves beginning to shiver around him, was getting increasingly louder and louder. He stayed rigid in his seat, unable to move other than to crane his neck to look over his shoulder.

And he should have jumped when he saw it. Or run out the park, terrified, when slowly, from where there had been nothing a moment before by the climbing frame, a large box faded in and out, alongside the screeching noise. It was a few seconds before the box, large and blue with the words _Police Box _emblazed largely across the top beneath the glowing light, appeared fully and solidly, sitting on the grass as if it had always been there. The sound died and before Blaine could even try to move, a man fell out the door, shutting it loudly behind him.

His tripped across the grass, glancing quickly around, brown hair falling across his face. He pulled it back from his eyes.

"Well this isn't right," Blaine heard him mutter. He knew he should move now. He knew he should get away before the stranger saw him, and began to talk to him. But he couldn't bring himself to move off the swing or to run. He couldn't give himself a good enough reason why the strange man who'd fallen out a blue box could be dangerous enough to run from.

And when he spun and met Blaine's eyes with his own piercing blue ones, there was no chance he could move. He closed his mouth and swallowed heavily, trying to get clear of the dryness.

The man grinned, huge and bright, looking directly at Blaine, running over to the swing set, with eager steps, catching the bar and swinging around it.

"Hello there," he greeted as he landed squarely in front of Blaine. He stared up at him, still clinging on to the swing, mouth hanging slightly open. The man looked down, smiling softly. What was left of the day's sun seemed to light him up, pale features illuminated against the dark backdrop of the playground.

"I seem to be lost," the man sighed, shifting his feet, eyes darting from Blaine's face to look around the park again. "I was on my way to Southampton. I must have got knocked off course a little."

He should really have stopped staring, even though his eyes were glued to the man, who had starting pacing around the swing set, studying everything he looked at intently. Blaine swallowed again.

"Um..." he started. "Are you okay?"

He jumped slightly on his seat when the man turned around, positively beaming back at him.

"Oh, an American!" the man exclaimed. "I'm in America then, am I?" He moved back around so he was facing Blaine, his eyes still darting around the park still, not focusing on Blaine once.

Blaine stared up at him, lips still parted as he watched him over.

"You're American," he stated, sure it should be completely obvious. The man turned to him in surprise, eyes swimming in giddy exhilaration.

"I am?" he asked, almost slowly as if testing what he was saying. "So I am! Well that's a new one..."

Eyebrows knitting together as he studied the man pacing in front of him, he settled back on to the swing, still clinging on tightly.

"At least that's one thing that's completely new," the man sighed. "I'm still not ginger." He pulled at the soft brown hair that was beginning to fall in his eyes again. "Just once I'd like to be but... brown. Always brown."

There was no figuring this man out, he could sit here all evening and night and watch the stranger pad about the park and still have no clue what he was doing or how on earth he had ended up here. There was every chance when Blaine had been looking up at the sky he'd fallen asleep and was now lost in his own dream world where mad men fell out of magical, disappearing, blue boxes.

He dug his thumb harshly into his thigh, wincing at the sting. Shaking his head softly, he repeated to himself that this wasn't real and that things like this never happened in real life. He palmed over the spot where he'd dug his thumb into, still gazing in the stranger's direction.

"So," the man clapped his hands, shocking Blaine out of the silence, "Could you tell me where I am? I really should get back on track."

"Lima, Ohio," Blaine replied. The stranger clicked his tongue, but was still smiling softly.

"You couldn't tell me the date could you?" he asked, and Blaine tilted his head, eyes looking over him carefully.

"July 11th."

"Year?"

"Year?" Blaine repeated, strangely not completely shocked the man was asking this.

"Yes. Year," the man laughed, his movements towards Blaine and the swing set so fluid he was next to Blaine within seconds, hand wrapped around the other swing's handle, but not sitting down.

"2012," he answered shortly.

The man groaned, eyes running over to look back at his police box. "100 years," he muttered softly. "And a few months too. You are completely useless." Blaine turned to look at the box wondering why the man was looking at it like that- that sweet smile and admiring little look that passed through his eyes. Just as he opened his mouth to ask him, the man cut through.

"What's your name then, young man?" he asked. Blaine frowned, studying the man's face even though he wasn't looking straight back at Blaine. He couldn't have been much older than Blaine. 22 or 23 at most.

"What's your name?" Blaine countered, defensively.

"The Doctor," he answered without a pause.

Blaine threw an impatient look his way, one the man- or the Doctor as he called himself- didn't seem to catch. "That's not a name."

"No it's not," he conceded. "But that is what you can call me. But what's yours?"

He turned to finally look at Blaine, gazing right into his eyes from so close above him. The upturn of the Doctor's mouth fell, a crease forming between his eyebrows, eyes widening in hopeless realisation.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't know." Blaine arched his eyebrows, frowning, going over what the Doctor could possibly be sorry about and what he didn't know.

"Sorry?"

"Yes," he mumbled eyes searching Blaine's face hungrily, almost waiting for something. He leaned over and down, so his face was inches away from Blaine's, one of his hands still clutching the other swing. Blaine's breath caught in his throat, his face warming up in response to how close he was. "I didn't see at first."

_Didn't see what first?_

He didn't ask. His eyes flickered over the Doctor as he waited, almost painful to swallow as he did. The Doctor leaned back, his eyes not leaving Blaine's.

"I didn't see how sad you are."

He flinched and opened his mouth, the reply barely there, and then closed it again. When he opened it another time to reply, the Doctor was moving to sit on the other swing.

"I'm not sad," he whispered. The Doctor turned his head, not missing the crack in Blaine's voice, or the way his hand tightened around the swing handle, or even the way his eyes shifted to the side.

The Doctor gave a strangled laugh, inhaling the crisp air and then breathing out slowly, almost over-exaggerated.

"The first thing a sad person says," he told Blaine, without a smile, "Is that they're not. I should have seen it immediately. When I first saw you. However, I'm going through... changes of my own at the minute." He fiddled with his little green bow tie and Blaine, in spite of himself, smiled. "Otherwise I would have noticed sooner."

Blaine caught the something in his eyes before it vanished within the second, as if it had never been there.

"Blaine Anderson," he heard himself say, as though detached from his own voice. At the Doctor's small smile, he returned it, ignoring the voice of his father, ignoring the warnings that talking to people like this man was dangerous. He couldn't be dangerous. There was an ease sitting next to him on the old swing set in the darkening park he hadn't found with anyone else before.

"Nice to meet you Blaine Anderson, from Lima, Ohio," the Doctor smiled, sticking his hand out. Blaine took it and they shook, the Doctor gripping his a little tighter to give him a reassuring squeeze.

"And you, Doctor."

They lapsed into the quiet, only the sounds of the breeze once again surrounding them, along with soft chirping of crickets in the background. Thunder rolled in the distance but he didn't look up. He stared into the woods ahead of him, watching the movement of the trees. He didn't know what to say to the Doctor, who swung gently beside him. He went over the past half hour.

The man next to him must have arrived here in another way, because if Blaine let himself believe a man had fallen out of a disappearing box, then what else could he let himself believe.

_At least in my head I'm away from here._

"What are you doing?"

Blaine pulled his eyes away from the trees and back at the Doctor, tilting his head.

"Thinking," he whispered.

"Good," the Doctor nodded, beginning to swing a little higher. "Thinking's good. Thinking's smart. But do you know what's better than thinking?"

Blaine stared, waiting for the Doctor to completely slow down until his feet were back on the ground and he was leaning over to Blaine and waiting for his answer. Blaine shrugged.

"Writers write," he told Blaine, "Artists draw. Painters paint." He signalled with his arms, Blaine sure one movement was meant to be the charade of a painter.

"Your observations of the world are mind blowing," Blaine replied dryly, with a delicate smile.

"What I mean is," he continued, still waving his arms around him. "They think. But they don't stop there. They make something with those thoughts. Paintings, poems, novels."

His mind was racing, and yet he could not form a single word, his mouth feeling overly dry again and his hands clamming up as he clung to the swing. The Doctor smiled knowingly at him, moved up, turning on the spot so he was right above Blaine, hovering over his swing.

"The world is more, we are more- we were made for more than just pleasing people, Blaine Anderson," he whispered, but he must have been shouting. He must have been because Blaine couldn't hear anything else. He flinched back but kept his eyes on the Doctor, his breathing shallow as he kept hold of his searching eyes.

"What are you going to do, Blaine?" he asked quietly, cocking his head to the side, hands clasping on the swing handles, above Blaine's head. Blaine's eyes fell from the Doctor's face so he was staring at the gold button on his waistcoat.

"I'm going to college to do pre-law," he recited, not taking his eyes off the one button. "Then I'll go to Law school and come back here and work with my father's firm, like him and my brother before me. I'll be paid well and live in a nice house and have a nice family. And everything will be really... _nice._" He forced the last word out, almost spitting it, still not taking his eyes off the button.

"And what do you want to do?" the Doctor muttered softly, Blaine fully aware the Doctor's eyes were completely on him, in anticipation.

His eyes trailed up the Doctor's chest and along his face, until he reached his eyes. The two of them were now only illuminated by the light from the flickering street lamps outside the park and small drops of rain were beginning to fall against Blaine's cold skin.

He searched the Doctor's eyes, feeling his own prickle with the threat of warm tears.

"Anything but," he admitted breathily. The Doctor nodded, his hand trailing down until it was just above Blaine's. With that still clutching the handle, he held his other out.

"You're more than this, Blaine Anderson," he told him. "I can see that. You know that." Blaine stared at his hand, hesitant to take it, even though something seemed to be pulling him too. His eyes drifted to the large police box. That strange box that had appeared completely out of nowhere and he felt that tug again. Wanting to take the Doctor's hand and follow him. Anywhere.

"You're insane," he said more to himself than to the Doctor, who threw his head back and laughed.

"True," he agreed. "But that doesn't make what I think and say any less honest."

Blaine scanned his face and his eyes again, his hand loosening from the swing for the first time in two hours.

"I want to show you, Blaine," the Doctor explained. "And if you don't like it... if you don't want it, I'll bring you straight back and disappear and it'll be like I never existed. But if you like it. Then I can show you _so_ much more." Blaine breathed deeply and stretched his hand out until he was holding the Doctor's and lifting himself up.

"Okay," he breathed, the Doctor beaming back, eyes shining in the flickering light.

Blaine Anderson let himself be pulled towards the strange box, he let the Doctor take him away that night with no more than a quick glance over his shoulder at the cold, lonely park, as rain finally began to fall and thunder roared from much closer by.

He let the Doctor take him into that box and shut the door before he could even care to want to say goodbye to a town he hopefully would never have to see again.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thank you for reading! :) Please let me know if this is worth continuing.


End file.
